


Soft Gaze, Ill Intentions

by DiggaDink



Category: Berserk (Anime & Manga)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Anal Sex, Blood As Lube, Captivity, Double Penetration, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Painful Sex, Slavery, Supernatural Elements, Threats of Rape/Non-Con, Time Skips, Unhealthy Relationships, Vampires, Warnings May Change
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-01
Updated: 2021-02-17
Packaged: 2021-03-09 20:55:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 19,880
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27832648
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DiggaDink/pseuds/DiggaDink
Summary: Play into him, pretend to love him, and then get him to let his guard down by making him fall in love. And then kill him.
Relationships: Griffith/Nosferatu Zodd, Griffith/Original Male Character
Comments: 3
Kudos: 5





	1. Chapter 1

"My lord, which one would you like?"

The elder vampire browsed down the line of humans. Men, women, young, old. In his eyes, they were all food. A bunch of petrified, skittish livestock lined up to be butchered and eaten. Blood bags. All of them. Built to serve. One catches his eye, a relatively scrawny looking boy whose hair shone like snow. Made him double take, mistaking him for someone else at first. His appearance hit close to home.

"This one," He points a clawed finger at him, "This one will do. Get him cleaned up. I expect him in my chambers tonight."

The servants scrub him until his skin is red with irritation. Painfully detangle his hair, unintentionally tearing out strands. He doesn't bother fighting back anymore. It isn't like he can run, or walk for that matter. His feet still have painful, deep cuts on their soles after his last failed escape attempt. Broken shards of glass still stuck in the cuts after he'd broken a window and tried to run. The vampiric servants did their best to remove the fragments of glass no matter how hard he'd thrash or screamed in pain. It was exhausting and he hardly has any energy left as they carry him to their master's chambers and lie him down to rest on the bed. They leave him alone in silence on that huge bed. The cool bed sheets are a welcoming feeling against his skin.

"What is your name, boy?" The Lord spoke from his right and nearly spooked Griffith enough to fall out of the bed, "Speak." He adds, growing impatient.

He hadn't even realized he was there, or even seen him come in for that matter. The bed was empty and so was the room when he was brought in. No worries. He was an ancient vampire with powers he couldn't fathom, "It's Griffith." He replies, "Why are you conversing with your dinner?"

He feels his cold fingers snake over his knee and down his leg, "I just figured it'd give you peace of mind." The man leans in closer and Griffith can see his face more clearly now that he's near the candlelight, "I don't want to make this painful for you." His black hair was as long as his own with streaks of grey near his hairline. Pale skin and high cheekbones were his most defining features.

"Let's get this over with. I know you're going to drain me dry until I pass out and die." Griffith chimes in, "Stop sugarcoating it. There is no way for you to make it not hurt."

"You've got quite the mouth on you, huh?" Retorted the Lord.

Griffith lies on his back with a sigh and stares at the ceiling. Fangs sink into his shoulder and he immediately reacts to the pain. He tries to push him away on reflex, but he's nothing against his supernatural strength. His lip burst with blood from biting on it to hold back tears and a whimper of pain. The last thing this man deserves are his tears. He can torture him, suck all the blood from his body, but he will never make him cry. It doesn't matter anymore anyways as darkness dances around the edge of his vision and the pain fades.

His blurry vision meeting the ceiling above him is surprising. He's still alive. But why? Was he not brought in here for food purposes? For sure he thought he'd be dead, perhaps casted off to the depths of hell. Griffith was no saint or a good person after all. There's bandages over his tender feet. An oversized nightgown now adorned his body. The door swings open and a servant brings him food which he eagerly eats every last bite. He doesn't even know what he just ate, swallowing before he could taste. His stomach filling up until he felt full was a sensation he hasn't felt in a long time, "Not too fast, you might choke on it." He hadn't realized the Lord was next to him on the bed. There he goes again with that shit, "You need to rest and recover." A cold hand caresses his side and Griffith slaps it away.

"Why didn't you kill me?" He asks, "Is this some sort of a joke? I'm not laughing."

He rubs the back of his hand where he was struck, "Hmph, just figured I'd keep you alive to have a taste of your blood later on, be a shame to drink it all for a one time thing."

"What, is there something different about my blood? I know you vampires prefer virgin blood, but I'm impure and there is nothing innocent or untainted about me."

"Now now, stop talking with your mouth full, it's rude." He begins, "I know you aren't pure, but I don't have to explain my reasoning to you. Need I remind you, I'm the one in charge here and I can easily change my mind."

He waves him off, "Whatever." On this side of the castle, there were no windows. The room was pitch black save for the candles near the bed and the fireplace on the other side.

Griffith tries to stand but hisses his pain and nearly falls, the Lord is at his side to catch him. He heard him tsk, "Didn't I say you need to rest?" He lies him down on the bed, "Exerting yourself will make you pass out, and on top of that, you're still injured here." He pulls off the bloodied bandages, "Look, you've reopened the wound."

The lacerations on his feet throb with pain when exposed to the cold air. Something damp slides over his right toe and he pulls his foot away, "What are you doing?"

"Just trying to clean them. You don't want an infection." He answered and pulled his feet back towards him.

"Stop it, it tickles." Griffith stifles a laugh when his tongue passes over another cut. It's a welcoming feel on his aching feet but also painful. A mixture of pain and pleasure. He licks away all of the smeared blood. Griffith kicks him and busts his lip. He initially didn't react until the blood dripped down his chin. It almost makes him want to lunge at him and lick it off of his face to become a vampire himself and then kill him. That's a thought.

The other man sits up and smirks and then suddenly leans in. It makes Griffith flinch and put his hands up defensively, "Relax. I'm not angry." He starts leaning in as if he's going to kiss him. Knowing ingesting vampire blood can turn him, Griffith would very well kiss him back if that were the case. This could be his chance, but suddenly, he pulls away just when Griffith was about to lean in, "You should get some rest. I'll have another servant apply clean bandages for you." He vanishes from the room in a cloud of black smoke.

"Dammit." Griffith swears. He was close but not close enough. His mind wanders and he thinks about that plan of his. Play into him, pretend to love him, and then get him to let his guard down by making him fall in love. And then kill him.

He doesn't know how long it's been, what day it is, or what season it is. All he could do is stay in this room and try not to go insane. It was nice, albeit dark. He can eat all he wants and bathe whenever. His feet have healed and he can walk again at last, but Griffith still longs for the outdoors. It's lonely in here, the only thing he gets to talk to are the servants, but they usually don't respond. His captor would occasionally check on him and Griffith would always proclaim that he missed him every time, though he would never stay for long, not even to rest or sleep. Do vampires even require sleep?

While sitting in front of the fire, his gaze happens upon an empty dresser. Discarded in the corner of the room to collect dust. He crawls to it and drags his finger along the wood at the side then down to its leg of the same material. Its nails are strong as he pulls on it but his grip is stronger. He snatches the leg from the base and picks out its metallic nails. No use for those. Only the wood will do, and this stone floor is just rough enough.

Amidst his thoughts, the heavy door creaks while it slowly opens and the Lord has returned after seemingly weeks of absence. Or months? Shit, he doesn't know. Griffith quickly hides his potential weapon underneath the rug he kneeled on. He's adorned in an elegant suit and a dark purple cape which trails behind him as he steps into the room. Griffith mentally prepares himself. Time to pretend to be a love-struck damsel as always when he returns like this, "Thought you've forgotten about me." He crawls towards him with his arms outstretched, "I've been so lonely without you."

"This again? I thought you disliked me." He makes no move to hug him in return, ignoring his invitation completely.

Griffith sighs in disappointment but he isn't surprised. His frivolous pursuits have never usually worked, "Hmph, I never said that."

"You implied it." Griffith sits back on his ankles, "I'm feeling a bit hungry at the moment." He doesn't need to be told twice as he stands and walks to the bed to sit on the foot of it. The vampire Lord crawls over him with Griffith exposing his neck, "I can't feed off of you there."

"Why not?"

Long claws gently rack over his scalp then down the snowy white strands to the ends. Oddly enough, it feels kind of good and the first time he's touched him like this, "Because I might hit an artery and then you'll bleed to death. I only bite there to kill."

Griffith hides a shy, feign smile with his hand, "Well well well, if I'm not mistaken, I'd say you care deeply for me."

The wrinkle already present between his brows deepens, "Don't count on it."

"Stop acting like you don't like it when I act this way." He conceals a giggle at the back of his throat, "How about here," He flirtatiously spreads his legs and points to his inner thigh, "It'll be enjoyable for the both of us."

The Count hums in thought, "What are you playing at?"

"I'm offering you an intimate and delicate area. You should leap at the opportunity because I might not give it to you again."

Ice cold hands grip his knees and press them to the bed, spreading his legs as wide as they can manage, "You say that as if you have a say on where I get to feed." His fangs sink through soft flesh and Griffith bites back a pained shout. No. He will not show any sign of weakness to this fucker who isn't even fit to see his tears. After the harsh bite, his tongue swipes over the wound, licking away every single crimson drop that pours out of it. He bites him again after the wound starts to clot and stops bleeding, then resumes licking him. It's a cycle that doesn't stop until he's full. 

Finally, it's over. This always hurts no matter what. Griffith blinks away the tears in his eyes, "Why don't you lick a little higher?" He purrs.

Their eyes locked and he contemplated something within his head. He then scoffs at him and dismisses his hints by shaking his head, "I do not have sex with humans. That is not their purpose to me because they are food. You humans don't have sex with a cow before you butcher it, do you?"

Griffith tuts, "You'd be surprised. Humans can be sick." The elder sits up and appears to take his leave, "Wait, don't go. Just do me this favor, alright? Stay with me for one night."

"Why?"

"Why?" He repeats, "Same reason as to why you have this big bedroom when you don't even sleep in it. You've practically ditched me here. I get so lonesome, sometimes I feel like I'm losing it."

He sighs in thought, "Very well."

Griffith pulls at the ribbon that held up his cape, "Good, now come here." He cooed.

The Lord firmly grabs his wrist that pulled on his clothes, "I already told you, I don't-"

"Who says we're going to sex?" Interrupted Griffith."

"Hm, I'm not sure. Maybe due to the fact you're trying to pull me under the sheets." He sarcastically retorts.

"Laying together doesn't mean sexual intimacy," Griffith explains, "I don't know how vampires view this, but you can share a bed with someone without fucking them."

He sucks in air and then lets it out slowly through his nose, "Okay."

Griffith keeps his distance from him under the blankets, "Is being intimate with a human frowned upon in vampire society?"

"No, we fuck humans all the time, some of us start families with them or marry them. But to me, you all are nothing but food, not even fit to be my bed warmer." Explained the Count.

The nerve of this guy, "Is that not what I've been doing this whole time? Warming your bed. It's the only thing around here I get to do." He sighs.

The Lord looks away for a moment to stare at the wall in thought, "Okay, okay. I guess I should look into getting you some books around here."

Griffith perks up, "Can I go outside? Just this once."

"Fine," The Lord notes the pity in his voice, "I'll allow you to go outside tomorrow morning. But if you even think about running away, you won't get far." That idle threat doesn't do shit to him. Doesn't shake him to his core or scare him even. He wasn't planning on running away anyways, after all, he's just one man against several other supernatural beings. Besides, he's got a better idea to get himself out of here. Griffith's fake smile widens and he pulls him into his outstretched arms as he leans back onto the bed. He allows himself to be touched and stroked by this human. Those pale fingers twirling his hair within them feels relaxing, "The least you can say is thank you."

He playfully gave a soft swat to his back, "Thank you. For what it's worth."

"It's the least I can do."

His eyes flutter open and he turns his head to look at the weight on the other side of the bed, "Morning." The other man spoke. He didn't appear to have slept at all. Wide awake and no signs of just waking up unlike Griffith. His hair was a mess and his eyes were slightly red from sleep.

Griffith sits up and eagerly stands up, his feet meeting the cold tile below, "Can we go outside now?"

"Damn, the least you can say is good morning back." Scoffs the Lord, "Also, you should eat something. Give your body some help on putting back what I took."

Griffith waves it off, "That can wait until we get back. I'll be fine."

He eagerly spins on the heels of his feet to rush to the door. Before he knew it, the door was opening and nearly hitting him as a servant brings in his food, "Knock first." He scolds and the servant immediately apologizes to them both, "Get back over here and eat, Griffith."

"But-" He stops and watches as the Lord beckons him over with a stern gaze, "Fine." His food was gone in an instant. He hadn't realised how hungry he was until he got his first taste of food.

"Don't choke." The shy servant states.

"Let him eat. I guess this shows he hasn't really been eating his meals, huh?" The Lord pats his back, "Do you not like her cooking?" Griffith ignores him to keep eating, "Leave us." She bows and takes her leave, "See, ar aren't you glad you ate something? I knew you were hungry."

He pushes the wheeled cart aside and stands up, "I'm ready. Let's go."

"Not before you drink your water. All of it." Griffith grabs the cup, tilts his head back and takes big gulps. He didn't stop until the glass was empty, "Well I'll be damned."

"Done," He slams it back down on the cart, "Can we go now?"

"Alright, but just for a few minutes. It isn't very decent outside right now."

The heavy doors to the main entrance of the structure swings open and he's hit in the face with bitter cold. It makes him gasp in realization. The last time he was outside, it was hot in the middle of summer. Now it's freezing and there's snow everywhere. A depressing kind of day. No sunshine to speak of. He's been locked up here longer than he could've ever imagined. Griffith sighs in disappointment and steps outside. His cold feet quickly felt numb against the ice below, "That's it?" He scoffs. His mind drifts to the possibility of escaping. Where'd he run to? How could he outrun several vampires who can move faster than his mind can perceive? Then there's surviving this cold in nothing but a nightgown.

"It's overcast today." He steps outside as well, "One of the few times I can come outside during the day because the sun's rays are blocked." The Count chuckles, steam blowing out of his mouth, "You were expecting the weather of summer still?" He makes a sound of disgust, "I hate spring and I hate summer even more."

Griffith brings his arms up and around himself from the cold while delicate snowflakes glide through the air and then to the ground, "I'm ready to go back inside."

"Disappointed?" The feeling of his cold hand against his lower back sends a shiver down his spine, "Sorry about this, if I could control the weather, I'd bring the sun back. For your sake."

The massive doors behind them shut, "Look at you, you do care for my comfort and well-being as I said before. Surprising words coming from somebody who tries to deny it."

"Quiet," He chimes in and beckons a servant over, "Take him back and make sure to stock up his room with some books. I'll see you soon."

He watches as he turns his back and walks in the opposite direction the servant led him, "Disappearing on me again? You just got here, fine, I expect to see you again next season I guess." He begrudgingly states.

It is so god-damned boring in this hell hole. He couldn't wait to crawl out of here, but his plan was moving at a snail's pace. The Count could be harder to crack than he initially thought. He needed to get him out of the picture and fast. Nothing but an obstacle, he was. To be thrown aside when he gets what he wants. Who knows what Griffith would do with powers like that? He smirks to himself at the thought of being untouchable. He kneels in front of the fireplace, staring blankly at the dancing orange flame as it warmed his face. The book he was reading tumbles to the floor from his disinterest.

"You expect to see me again next season, huh?" The Count was right behind him, so close he could feel his breath on the nape of his neck. Griffith jumps away startled, "Looks like you ate your own words."

"Fuck you." He turns his back on him and folds his arms, "You were still gone for days."

"A far cry from months." He keeps his back turned on him, "Look, I apologise. Happy now?" Griffith shakes his head and he chuckles at his antics. It's… Cute. In an annoying stubborn way. He was charming and it warms his cold chest, "What were you doing just now?"

Plotting your death. Griffith thinks in his head but he smiles and laughs, "Fucking nothing. That's what. Same as always. Just stare at the fireplace, read, and daydream."

"The books aren't of any entertainment for you?" He questions and glances at the discarded book nearby, "Looks like you were reading one just now."

Griffith crosses his arms and looks down at the book's cover, "They are, but I still find myself wanting more stimulation."

"You mentioned daydreaming. Daydream about what?" He prods and sits on the nearby couch.

Gaining your power and then using it against you. His wandering mind once again thought, "Wishing I could be out of this room. I've grown to dislike everything about it."

"Okay, maybe I've been holding you too tight. Have to let you breathe sometime and I've owned you for a while so," He pauses in thought, "Alright, you're free to wander about the castle. I trust you know your place and won't try anything dumb."

Griffith flashes a smile and he turns around to face him. He suddenly throws himself at him, "Oh, thank you, thank you so much!"

The vampire flinches when the impact of his weight hits his lap, "Alright, alright, don't have me change my mind." He jokes.

"This is perfect. I can finally explore this place."

Clawed fingers caress thigh, ghosting over the bite incisions there, "If you don't mind." He knows what he's implying and nods, feeling his fangs bite into his shoulder. It isn't as painful as before, but it still makes him tense up. Griffith leans back until he hits the couch beneath him when he's released from his arms, "How do you feel? I didn't go overboard, did I?"

"I feel alright." He answers before playfully placing his legs on his lap, "How old are you?"

Claws lightly prick the flesh along his legs as they travel down to his cold feet, "That is a question I cannot answer, I was born like this just like parents. Eventually, you get so old that you stop caring and lose track as a result." He appears fairly old by human standards. Grey hair alongside his hairline and faint white strands within the facial hair on his cheeks.

He leans forward to touch his hair, long and soft through his fingers, "If vampires don't age, then why do you have grey hairs?"

"We do age," The Count laughs, "We just don't die from it, while we may begin to look old as any other human, our bodies and innards remain the same as if we were young." Griffith brings his hand from his jet black hair to his cheek, now that he realised it, the man didn't possess a single wrinkle over his skin.

"Do you have a wife?" He glanced down to his hand, "Don't think I haven't noticed your ring."

"I did once, but she left me," He answered, "We didn't quite get along anymore, but I still miss her deeply. I haven't quite gotten over her yet." He touches the ring on his hand and pinches it between his fingers.

Griffith frowns at the bleak answer, "Do you have any children?"

"I have many, but they've all left to forge their own lives." He went on, "Enough about me. What about you, what was your life like before I got you?"

"Not that interesting at all, I was nothing but a peasant in poverty. That's probably why your kind comes after us, because nobody will miss us when we're gone." Explained Griffith, "Do you have a name?"

The Lord scoffs, "My name is not important to you."

"And why is that?"

He shifts uncomfortably, "I didn't think I'd let you live this long, I was supposed to kill you the moment I got you," Griffith leans closer and bats his eyes, "But I didn't because-" His voice abruptly trails off when Griffith kisses him. He wants to shove him off with all of his might, but this human balls up his fists within his clothes and holds him there. This shouldn't happen, but he doesn't want this to end. That's enough, The Count pushes him away gently, "You don't want to do this. You should hate me."

"Says you." He jokes and tries to lean in again, but is stopped halfway.

"No, you don't understand, I shouldn't love you and you shouldn't love me." His voice cracked when he began to tremble, "You- I miss her so much that I-" He tosses his legs off of his lap and stands up. Griffith pondered what he meant by that, "I'm such a fool. How could I do this to myself? I made the mistake of leaving you alive!" Before he could react, he grabs his throat and squeezes. Griffith grabs at his hands and desperately tries to make him stop, but all that comes out are sputters and pathetic whimpers. Glassy eyes looked up at him and the panicked expression on his face relaxed as he began to near unconsciousness. Suddenly, the pressure on his neck lets up and he's released from his grasp. Griffith chokes on the sheer amount of air he sucks in.

"Dammit." He gags, "You should just let me leave if you're going to do this shit." Griffith spat, "Do you want me dead or not?"

"I don't know."

"What kind of an answer is that? You just tried to kill me!"

"I know!" He screams, leaning into his personal space, "I know." He repeats, quieter this time.

Griffith fakes a pained sob, "I don't understand. Do you love me?" The other man looks away when their eyes locked upon one another, "Answer me!" He grabs onto his arm.

"I don't know." Was his pathetic reply and shrugs off Griffith's grip on him. No, his plan won't be foiled so easily, not when he's this close. He kisses him again, noses bashing into each other and cutting his lip on his fangs which the vampire eagerly licks away.

His feet leave the ground and he's carried to the bed, back meeting the cool sheets. They pull off each other's clothes and he bites the other's lip as hard as he could manage, but it isn't enough to break the skin. Dammit. He pulls away in pain, "Sorry, I guess I just got too carried away." He lies. Griffith was ready to try again, but his mouth was trailing kisses down his body before he could. He cuts his loses and stares up at the ceiling. He'll have to get him some other day.

His ass hurt, unbearably so. What does he expect? They didn't use any form of lubricant last night or preparation. The last place that someone with claws should stick their fingers in was his ass. Griffith still felt his cold hands all over his body, felt him thrusting deep within his depths. It isn't an unwelcome feeling. Sex was never pleasurable to him. Only something to do in exchange for something else. He could barely stand to sit down or put weight on his rear, "Fuck." He bitterly sighs under his breath. No matter, it'll be worth it in the end and he'll do it again if he has to.

"How is your body?" The Count was next to him, already fully dressed as if nothing happened, "Do you need a medic?"

"No, I'm alri-"

He touches his hip and notes the scratches there, "Dammit, I knew I went too far last night, I should've never done that to you."

Griffith waves him off, "It's okay, I've been through worse." He stood to his wobbly legs and bites back the searing pain, "See? I'm okay."

The Lord holds his hands out as if he's expecting him to fall any minute now, "You should still take it slow."

"I'll be okay, for now, I'm not some delicate flower. Besides, there's things for me to see." He eagerly gets dressed and sprints out the door. It's even colder out here than it is in there. The first time he's left that room unsupervised. At least, he thinks. For sure the Lord is watching him in the shadows. Like all castles, it's dark and dank. Maybe he should've brought a candle with him to light the way. He pulls on the handle to another room, the heavy wooden door scraped against the stone. A study. An impressive one. Damn, if only he knew he was hiding this, Griffith could just see himself drowning himself in all of these books. He walks through the aisles of dusty bookshelves, reaching the back of the room where a lone desk sat. Behind it, a large painting of The Count as well as a woman standing next to him.

He had to rub his eyes, step closer and take a second look because he could've sworn that was him. That woman looked like him. Long, white beautiful hair cascading down her shoulders and back. Her facial structure was different than his, though they shared the same blue eyes. His eyes widened in realization. She was the reason as to why he was left alive, why he was chosen out of the dozens of humans lined up. There were many who were in better shape than he was, yet he was picked out of them all, "I should've told you this last night." He turned around to look at the voice, The Count stood in the narrow walkway, a silhouette against the light behind him.

"So this is what you meant. I just looked too much like her, so you kept me around for that." He fakes the disappointment and pain in his voice, "So you really don't love me for me, huh?"

The Lord seemingly teleported to his side, "Don't say that. Of course I love you."

"You hardly know me!" He snaps, "You only kept me alive because I reminded you of her, you bedded me because you missed her! Admit it, when you look at me, all you see is her!" Griffith slaps his hands away when he tries to grab him, "No! I don't want you touching me."

"I'm sorry. Dammit, what do you want me to do? Get on my knees and beg?"

Griffith walks away from him, "Just leave me alone."

He stands in his way, forcing Griffith to stop and look at him, "No! Don't leave me just as she did. Please. I'll do anything for your forgiveness. Just don't leave me."

Anything? Anything? Griffith's mind kept repeating that word in his head. The pain in his eyes betrayed the growing flames inside of him. This was what he was waiting for. This is what he needed. He kneels in front of him and cradles his head within his hands, "I want to live forever by your side." He doesn't say anything initially, taking it all in word for word, "Unlike her, I'll never leave you and leave you lonely. Do you want me by your side too?"

The Count then nods at him, "Y- yes." He lets out a shaky sigh. Griffith watches with bated breath as he scratches his index finger with a long nail and draws blood. He wasted no time in wrapping his lips around the wound there and lapping up the blood. Nothing immediately happens like he'd expect it to unfortunately. Guess he'll have to keep his front up for a little while longer. The wound closes and heals entirely and Griffith pulls away. The Count hugs him, and then kisses him while uttering "I love you." In between kisses and Griffith says it back, though it isn't genuine. All he could think about is slaying him.

It's a slow and gradual transformation. He notices his heart beats slower and his body temperature has plummeted. Nails grew longer and he became more tolerant against the cold. He could no longer see himself in the mirror. It startled him at first, "Don't be afraid, that's normal." The Count stands behind him and rubs his shoulders.

Griffith looks down at his long nails, "What should I expect with this power? Can I control people's minds?"

"Control people's minds," The Count repeats then breaks out in laughter, "That's the funniest shit I've heard in my centuries of existence. That's a myth brought upon by humans. We do not have that ability. We've never had that ability and we probably never will."

Griffith nods, "Okay then, what about flight?"

"We can fly." He answers, "And we can shape shift too, to look like a bat. You can now also run faster without getting tired, want to go outside and test some things out?"

"I'll race you." He playfully smirks before sprinting out of the room and towards the main entrance, his legs moved faster than he could comprehend. He's met with a blast of cold when he rushes through the doors outside.

"I nearly fell asleep waiting for you." The Count jokes. Apparently, he beat him out here. Griffith stutters over his words, "Don't think about it too much, you're still a fledgling and you still have much to learn."

Griffith looks up at the night sky, "What about flying or shape shifting? I want to see what I look like as a bat."

"You still need to build up strength here." The Count grabs his wrists then touches his biceps, "These will turn into wings and they have to be strong enough to get you off the ground."

Griffith nods in understanding, "I see, guess I'll have to start working out and getting back into shape."

The other man smiles and nods, his gaze trailing off to focus on the environment around them, "The snow is starting to melt. It's almost spring." He makes a sound of annoyance, "You'll find yourself being more sensitive to heat. Even if you aren't in the sun. Heat can kill you, you'd pass out or have a heat stroke."

They walk back inside of the castle, "I noticed that I've been sleeping less and not feeling as tired when I wake up. Is sleeping necessary for us?"

"It is, but we can go longer without it, although if you find yourself severely injured, your body might shut down and force you to sleep so it can focus on healing itself. Meanwhile, all other bodily functions slow down or stop." Griffith grabs hold of his hand while he went on to say, "When you're asleep, you're at your most vulnerable, anybody can find you and kill you and you cannot fight back."

"So that's why we require less rest, then." He replies. The familiar grumbling of his stomach hits him, something he hasn't felt in a week or so. 

He places his hand on his abdomen and The Count must've noticed it bothering him, "Looks like you're ready for your first meal as a vampire." Griffith feels him tug on his hand, "Come." The way down to the dungeon gave him memories. It's where he and several others were held until the Lord picked one out. This area immediately made him feel uneasy, "It's okay. I know you're afraid, I can smell it on you."

"You can?" Griffith hastily smells himself.

"Pheromones. You're getting the nervous sweat."

"Shit, do I smell bad?"

The other man chuckles, "Not at all." Rows of iron cages greet him upon reaching the bottom of the stairs. Someone whimpers in fear at the sight of them. He unlocks the door to the nearest cell and drags the helpless woman out by her wrist.

Griffith immediately rebuttals, "Wait, I don't think I can do this."

"But you're hungry. You have to drink blood or else you'll starve."

"Can it just wait for a moment? At least until I can get the nerve-"

"Griffith-" Sighed the Lord.

"For the time being can I just eat regular food?"

"Griffith." He interrupts once more, "Eating food for too long makes you malnourished and then you'll lose your strength and die." He couldn't think of anything to argue back with and he nods quietly, "Cheer up. You don't have to kill her if you don't want to. Feeding on someone doesn't always have to end up with them dead. You should know that." His gaze fell upon the visible bite scar on his shoulder.

Griffith must've noticed him staring at it and he pulls up his tunic, "Will these bite marks ever go away?"

"No. Flesh wounds sustained before you were turned will never fade." Griffith looks down at the trembling woman at his feet. Her dark hair hid her face while she stared at the ground in defeat. He anxiously blows air through his mouth and kneels down to her level, "Here, you can bite her here." Griffith holds her thin wrist within his. This shouldn't be too hard. He has to eat too, just the same as any other living thing. A hawk doesn't feel remorse when it rips the head off of a smaller, weaker bird. He was the hawk and she was the pigeon. Predator and prey. 

He bites into the back of her wrist. It wasn't enough to break the skin though. He releases her and looks at the imprints of his teeth there, "What?"

"Try it again. Harder this time. Your fangs are still growing and they're still pretty dull and short." He bites her harder and the taste of metallic blood floods his mouth as he squeezes the area around the wound to further cause bleeding. She squeals in pain, tries to pull away but the Lord holds her still. He hates it. Blood doesn't taste good, never has, "So sloppy. Look at how much you're wasting." Griffith sits back to look at the mess running down her arm to her elbow and then the floor, "Ease up on the squeezing." He nods and resumes feeding. It takes a moment, but he can finally feel his stomach filling up. Good. He's already tired of this. Griffith released her arm and stood up, wiping his bloody lips, "So what do you think?"

"I hate it."

"You do?" The other man laughs, "Just wait until you try virgin blood. That is, if I can find any."

"Hmph." Griffith watches him pull the woman back into her cell and shut its door.

"I'm just a little shocked is all, "You're the first person I've ever turned." He grabs hold of his hand and brings it up to his lips to kiss the knuckles, "I guess you could say I'm the teacher and you're my pupil." He then leads him back up the stairs.

"What happens if we feed off of each other?" He curiously prods, "Is it possible to drain me to death now that I'm just like you?"

"No, we heal too quickly for open wounds to become an issue. The only thing that can stop us from healing are silver weapons and since you won't be able to heal, you will bleed out." He answers, "And to answer your first question. No, we cannot feed off of each other. Once again, you'll get malnourished and lose weight and power."

Griffith tugs on his hand and leads him to the master bedroom, "I see." He pulls off his shirt and then does the same to the Lord's coat, Why don't we," He pauses to kiss him, "Test out my endurance, hm?"

They fucked like wild ass animals, it hurt, but not for long. All of the wounds inflicted upon each other healed instantly. Griffith wanted to rush everything to get to the point, to get him to let his guard down but learned to take it slow. May as well enjoy himself for a moment before striking. That sharpened wooden chair leg underneath the mattress isn't going anywhere. It's the first time in a while since he's felt this much pleasure. They haven't lain together since their first painful coupling all those weeks ago.

He makes sure to push The Count to his absolute limit, until he's trembling with sensitivity and exhausted with Griffith triumphantly smirking at him, "Don't get cocky, you're significantly younger than me." He jokes. 

"Age is not an excuse for a vampire." Mocked Griffith. He works his hips faster on his cock until he can work another orgasm out of him.

"That's enough," He pauses to swear, "That stuff you did with your mouth. Is that what people nowadays are doing?" Griffith laughs at the comment, "Back in my day we did no such thing."

"Sounds boring." Comments Griffith. He lies himself down to rest at his side and place his head on his chest, "Sleep with me."

"Is that not what I just did?"

"No, I mean, yes," Sputtered Griffith, "I mean just sleep with me. Actually sleep as in close your eyes and dream." It'll be the first time he's done such a thing.

"Why?"

"Because I want you to." He answers, "You've never slept with me before."

He tenderly holds his hand within his, "Okay. But only because I feel bad."

Yes. Finally. Griffith keeps an eye open to watch him all night. This'll finally be his chance after all of this waiting. He couldn't express his excitement right now, but in his head, he's jumping for joy. They lie in silence and Griffith listens to his beating heart slow when he finally dozed off. It's time.

Griffith carefully slithers out of the bed to retrieve that stake he'd hidden long ago underneath the blanket. He turns back to face him and hovers above his sleeping form next to the bed. Finally. Finally! No longer will he be looked down upon by the likes of him. The Lord stirs in his sleep, "My love, you are going to be the death of me." He will be more than that. He doesn't know it just yet, but the moment The Count willingly turned him was the moment he died. He just doomed himself.

"Damn right I am." He winks before raising the stake over his head and bringing it down into his chest with all of his might. It splinters and cuts into his hand, but he shoves it down deeper until it snaps in half from the force. The man released an animalistic screech. He tries to get away, but his powers are seemingly drained from his body in an instant.

His mouth sputtered out blood, "I-I trusted you, I loved you. I gave you my all!" 

Griffith coldly looks down at him while he struggles to breathe, "I know you did."

"Was-" He pauses to cough up more blood, "Did you ever love me as much as I loved you?"

"No." He answers. His captor crumbles before him and releases a long sigh. Griffith knew he was dead at last. Finally. He releases the stake within his hands and looks up at the ceiling. A heavy weight feels like it's been lifted from his shoulders.

His victory is short lived. The door swings open behind him, "My Lord!" A terrified scream and a, "Get him!" Griffith leaps out of the bed and charges them head on. He gets bested instantly. They were better at making use of their abilities than he was. He got scratched at, bitten, kicked in the face, hair pulled. But he stood his ground. Three against one, wait now it's four. Five? He doesn't know, all he sees is red. He gets one in the eye with his claw, another one with a well aimed kick to the gut. Blood, pieces of clothing, and hair flies everywhere.

He fights back with all of his might, manages to kick someone into the fireplace and their clothes instantly set ablaze. More reinforcements. Soldiers have joined forces with the servants and he can't land a decent hit on their armored forms. Their multicolored glowing eyes bore through the darkness of their helmets.

Someone holds him still long enough for another to cut his abdomen deep with a blade. It burns like hell. For the first time, he channels his ability to escape by dissolving into black smoke and retreating through the narrow window then outside into the bitter cold.

Forget the castle, forget the servants, he can't take them all on alone. Fuck it, they can have it, after all, he's got what he wanted. They were just everlasting butlers and guardsmen to serve their Lord. He can get his own just like them and have an even better castle than this one.

No longer could he maintain this smoky form. The impact on the ground shakes him to the core as the snow bites his flesh. It's so cold but hot at the same time. The sun. The sun's direct rays make his skin blister instantly. It's too much and he can feel his teeth chatter. There wasn't a single cloud in the sky to shield him and the sun's light reflecting off the white snow stings his eyes and blurs his vision.

They ceased their pursuit. At first, he wonders why, but then the cut on his stomach sizzled and burned. He ran as fast as he possibly could, going nowhere in particular, just desperately trying to hide from direct sunlight and then worry about the cold later. He stops at an overturned carriage partially buried. It was filled with snow and missing its doors but provided shade on the inside. Griffith watches in fascination while his blistering burns fade and heal. Shit. He doesn't know where to go or where he is. The air was still frigid and the sun is going to hinder his ability to get out of here. When his adrenaline settles, the pain on his abdomen reminds him of its terrible existence again with a throb. Why isn't he healing? He looks down, eyes widening in shock. Black blood. He's bleeding black blood. It's unnatural and alien, makes him want to look away in disbelief.

Stop the bleeding with pressure. Right. He presses down, but it persists. He can already feel himself growing lightheaded. This can't be the end, not when it's already begun. He'll be damned if he dies like this. Come all this way just to fade away in a forgotten carriage in the middle of nowhere. Who will happen upon his remains? He exhaled slowly and cannot bring himself to breathe in when he needs to. Damn. It was just starting to get good, but he supposes he had this coming for all the shit he's done that he isn't proud of. The tears underneath his eyes freeze instantly as his body fails him.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ❗ Tw: Gets pretty rapey in this chapter

He must've passed out when he wakes up to the feeling of weightlessness and wind in his hair. Is he flying? He doesn't know how to fly yet. No, he's being carried. It snowed heavily and the wind chill sent an all too human chill through his core. The bothersome sun was long gone in the darkness of night. Whatever is carrying him can fly based on the jolt he felt when it landed his massive form back on the ground. Griffith mustered enough strength to lift his head up, that beast turned into a man right before him. He held his small form within his arms, bringing him inside a cabin and laying him down on furs in front of the crackling fire. His body locked and seized up to shiver.

"Still alive?" His blurry vision focuses on the strange man. Dark, bronze skin, black hair, and an underbite. Griffith tries to respond, but he couldn't. He can feel his body begin to fail, "Not for long it seems." The other man hovers above him and kneels down to his level to place something on his skin near where he was cut. Whatever they were, they were slim, black slug looking things. They wiggle around disgustingly and Griffith lifts a hand to swat them away, "Don't, let them help you." He easily pins his wrists to the floor and Griffith looks away while they work. It doesn't matter anyways. His body couldn't stay conscious anymore.

No matter what he did, he couldn't get the young vampire to wake up again. Force feeding him blood fed to a tube down his throat and straight into his stomach did nothing. The bleeding stopped, but he’s unresponsive. It was no use. Just when he's about to give up and bury him somewhere outside, he feels a faint thump against his finger when he grabs him by the wrist. A pulse. He isn't truly dead yet despite his freezing cold core temperature and lack of the ability to breathe implying otherwise. He manages to pry open his eye and the pupil shrinks from the light. He's still alive. No doubt about it. Until he wakes up, he’ll have to be placed somewhere safe and away from the sun.

What is this? One moment he was barely alive, fighting against death's grasp and the next only darkness. Is he dead or just blind? For sure his eyes are wide open. His hands come into focus. His eyes adjust to see in the dark. Oh, right. That cut of his was probably the cause of this. Griffith touches himself there. It's gone, though an ugly scar remains. A horizontal slash across his abdomen. Such a harsh contrast against his pale, otherwise, perfect skin. He pushes the heavy object above him until it bumps against something else and stops. Something heavy stomps just above him and it begins to pull stuff up and push things out of the way. Griffith is greeted by that same man again when he lifts the stone lid of his glorified coffin up. How the hell is he still alive? Whatever this man was, he was not human, "I'll be damned." He states.

Griffith sits up and tries to stand, but his legs won't let him. He tries to speak, but his throat won't let him do that either. The large man effortlessly picks him up and out of the coffin. Or was it the floor? The coffin was underneath the floorboards. He's set aside on the nearby couch while the man slots the wooden floor panels together where they belong like a puzzle. He doesn't know how long it's been or how long he's been asleep. That silver blade made his body shut down instantly as a last ditch effort to save itself, "Why didn't you kill me?"

"Do you want me to right now?"

"N-no, I mean why didn't you let me die?"

"Not sure. I guess I just felt bad. I heard you desperately running around my property. I was going to leave you, but changed my mind."

Griffith looks around. It's the same cabin as before albeit larger. He places his hand on his scar, "How did you save me? I should've bled to death and died from blood poisoning. That silver got into my bloodstream."

"Leeches." The other man answers, "I tried to save you, but you went out anyway. At first I was going to bury you when you stopped breathing but then I realized you still had a faint, slow pulse. I hid you underneath the house to keep you safe until you wake up." Griffith takes it all in slowly and sighs. It hurts to speak, hell, it even hurts to hold his head up. It wasn't until he looked down did he notice the extent of not eating anything for so long. His bones in his hands and wrists were noticeable and his nails were so grossly overgrown. Maybe that's why he finally woke up, "Hungry?"

"More than anything." His hoarse voice cracks from excursion. The scent of blood floods his nose, had he been able to move, he would've vigorously launched himself at the man the second he pierced his skin. He approaches him and presses his bloody hand to his lips and Griffith eagerly licks up the blood that pools in the palm of his large hand. To think he used to hate feeding. The blood just never tasted good to him, but now that he's starving and it's the first thing he's had in his stomach, he can't get enough of it. It's the second time in his life he's ever eaten as a vampire. Its warmth settles in his stomach. It has him moaning softly at the back of his throat in delight. The wound closes on him, then he's lapping up every last drop in his hand as well as along his arm.

"Slow down," He states. It makes Griffith look up at him peculiarly. Reminded him of his "lover" when he'd eaten for the first time as a vampire, "Or you'll get indigestion and throw it all up." He sits there in silence and the stranger wipes his red mouth clean.

"Why are you helping me? Don't tell me you're secretly falling in love with me too because I remind you of your ex wife who ran out on your ass and you’re using me to cope with your loneliness and inability to move on." His red eyes blink several times at him. His eyes are red apparently and Griffith only just now noticed, "It’s a long story and it's basically my new life explained. I was only nineteen when I was turned, now I'm-" He stops mid-sentence to think. Shit, how old is he now? How long was he out? He recalls The Count calling him a fledgling once. Like a baby bird. Apparently, being turned into a vampire pauses the lifespan at the time of being turned and begins anew. A rebirth in a way according to some of the servants who’d actually bother to talk to him. No longer was he nineteen, "How long has it been since you found me?"

"Quite a long time. I mean it, a long, long time. I nearly forgot all about you until you started shuffling around under here," He gestures to the floor, "You're lucky I was home at the time." Griffith stares at him in bewilderment, "The year I found you was approximately 1489-ish. Now it's 2063. That makes you about five hundred years old." His heart feels like it sinks down into his stomach, "This is a lot to take in. Sorry about that." Griffith stands up on his exhausted legs and they wobble from his weight. He weakly waddles to the door, "Wait." He swings open the door anyways and is blinded by the light. The door slams shut in front of him from the other man forcing it closed, "It's still daylight."

His thin form is carried back to the couch, "I don't feel good."

"Get some rest, then. You don't have to force yourself to stay awake."

"No, I don't mean it as in sickly, I just-" He doesn't know what he means actually. He's just… Indifferent and doesn't know how to process this shit.

"If you think this is shocking, wait until you go into the city." He laughs, "I await to see your reaction." The city? Shit, what's so different about the city? 

He pulls out a rectangular object from the nearby desk drawer, "Point out on this map where you're from." Whatever it is, it's bright and it irritates his eyes when he brings it closer. Griffith places the tip of his claw on its glass screen. Where his hometown was. It's nothing but green there when the other pinches the screen to zoom in, "Looks like your city couldn't withstand the test of time."

He ignores that statement. His hometown wasn't particularly interesting anyways. Just a lame little bundle of houses pressed up against each other with only one nice, big house at the top of the hill. Where he presumed the founder lived. It could barely survive winter, so he isn't surprised it dissolved to time, "What's your name?"

"It's Zodd."

"My name is Griffith." He answers, "I still don't understand why you saved me." Upon realizing he was still naked, he hastily covers himself with his arms. Zodd drapes a nearby blanket over his form.

"Would you have rather me leave you for dead?"

Griffith released a sigh and ran his fingers through his hair, shit, it came all the way to his thighs, "Nevermind then. Why don't we team up, hm?"

"And do what together?"

"I don't know, take over the world maybe. The man who turned me had a huge castle and dozens of servants and guardsmen. I want one just like it, I want to be like him." He suggested.

Zodd chuckles, “Sounds very expensive. Though with your newfound power, you could manage. These humans won’t stand a chance against you.”

Griffith takes pride in that, "Also, what the hell are you? I know you aren't a human since you're older than me."

"I'm something you'll never understand." Responded Zodd. He rolls his eyes from the vague answer. Not that he was expecting something different, of course. Griffith quietly studies himself. Everything on him was overgrown. His hair, his fingernails, his toenails, "You look like you need a bath."

He helps him onto his numb legs, "Do I stink? I wouldn't be surprised if I do."

"Not that bad." He brings him to what he assumes is the bathing area. The sound of the tap turning and water rushing out of the faucet startled him at first then he pulled something to make the water rain from above, "It's called a shower, now get in and wash up with this. This is called soap and it,"

Griffith scoffs and retrieves the bar then steps into the shower, "I know what soap is. I'm not that barbaric." The curtains slide shut when he steps in. The warm water is soothing and welcoming against his cold skin. Blood and grime tint the water below. His hair makes his neck hurt from the weight it accumulates when it absorbs the water cascading over it.

He's clean enough. The water beneath him runs clear. Griffith steps out and wraps himself with a towel. A pair of scissors reflecting the bathroom light catches his eye. He snips it all off to reach the middle of his back again. A mess of tangled white locks pool at his feet. The nearby nail clippers snip his claws down back down to normal length, "You finished in there yet?"

"Just a second." He pulls on the nearby clothes. The shirt was fine, plain and a simple beige. The pants, however, squeezes him in an uncomfortable spot and he hates the fabric. It's suffocating down there and makes his legs look even skinnier than they already are. He angrily storms out, "What the fuck is this?"

Zodd looks him up and down then laughs, "Those are called skinny jeans."

"I hate them."

"I know you do. I hate them too, but it's the only thing I had around here that could fit you." He adds. Griffith only sneers at him in silence, "Okay, fine. Tonight I'll take you into town and you can pick out a different outfit, that sound fair?"

“Fine.” He agrees, “I’m going back to sleep.” He shoves past Zodd.

“Try not to sleep for another century or two this time.”

Griffith seats himself back on the couch, “If this is the direction men’s apparel is headed, I hope I do.”

Zodd taps him awake, “Get up, we can leave now.” He didn’t have to be told twice, once he looked out the window to confirm it was night he rushed to the door to leave, “Wait a minute,” Zodd calls out and he stops in his tracks just outside the threshold, “You intend on running all the way there? You don’t even know where you’re going.” Griffith just stares at him blankly, “Also, you should really put some shoes on.”

It wasn’t until he said that did Griffith realise he was barefoot this whole time, “The ground has never bothered me.” He answers, “Besides, I doubt you have anything in my size.”

“You’re right, but people are going to stare.” He joins him outside then presses on something within his hand. 

Something beeps on the side of the house just out of view, “What was that?” Whatever it was, it was massive as it moved towards them in complete silence then lowered itself closer to the ground for easier access.

“This is a truck.” He opens up the door on its side, “Nobody uses horses and carriages anymore.”

Griffith hesitantly seats himself inside of it. Its screen on the dashboard glows brightly like that device Zodd showed him earlier, “Wow.”

He joins him on the other side, “Unlike horses, it will never get tired, well, until you have to charge it.”

Griffith finds himself touching the soft material of the seat, “Where is it getting its power from?”

“The sun. This one is solar powered, but there’s also electric models.” He watches as he pushes down on something on the side of the wheel then the vehicle jolts forward after he presses down on something with his foot, “Cars have come a long way. They didn’t used to be able to self drive and they were also gas powered.” He explains, “They started fucking up the atmosphere and this planet so everyone began to shift towards electric and solar.” Zodd went on to joke, “Not that any of this matters to you, considering how everyone in your time probably believed the Earth was flat and weren’t aware of space.”

Griffith stares daggers at him, “For your information, we were educated on that matter too! And I was literate. Something not everyone of my background can say." He swiftly corrects, “And I knew about Earth’s spherical shape too.”

Zodd tuts, “If I placed a high school level exam in front of you right now, you’d fail the fuck out of it. Times have changed, Griffith. People are smarter now than they were back then. Science and technology has advanced farther than you could ever imagine. It’s a shame that you weren’t conscious to see it all like I was.” Griffith crosses his arms and looks out the window. It’s a seemingly endless stretch of trees. The bright headlights of another vehicle on the other side of the road blinds him for a moment, “Dammit, that beeping is bothersome.”

“That’s the seatbelt warning. Put it on if you want it to stop, otherwise, it’ll keep going.” Griffith feels around his seat and pulls what he assumes to be what he’s looking for over him until it clicks, “What was your life like?”

“My life? Hard. I was a peasant, I had no formal education and didn’t learn to read until I was fifteen.” He answers, “I tried everything to get out of there. It seems the only way to leave that life was to be abducted and made to be someone’s glorified wife.”

“Wife?” He questions.

“The man who turned me loved me. I killed him, though. I wanted to take everything he owned, but I got chased off.” He adds. Zodd swears under his breath in response, “I wonder if his castle still stands.” Just over the tops of the trees, he can faintly see the glow of what he assumes to be the city they’re approaching.

“I doubt it. There’s nothing around here but forest. I’ve flown over it more times than I can count.” 

Flew? That’s right, Zodd can fly too, “Why didn’t you just fly us into the city?”

“Too many people, too many cameras, too many eyes.” He answers, “I know you don’t know how to fly yet, but when you do, please don’t do it too close to the city or road. Your newfound power is excellent, but you need to learn to lay low. Failing to lay low will be your biggest downfall because you don't need to draw attention to yourself." Zodd states, “I’ve been at that house since you passed out all those decades ago, and now there’s roads encroaching on my land. It isn’t worth risking being seen or filmed.”

“The world doesn’t know about the existence of vampires anymore?” Asked Griffith.

Zodd shakes his head, “Nope. It all turned into a myth and then a legend. Vampires have started to keep to themselves more now that everyone knows their weaknesses.” The skyline comes into view. Towers taller than he could’ve thought possible and they’re only getting bigger as they drive towards them. He was silenced in awe. Every single color of the rainbow decorated the sides of the buildings with those flashy signs. 

Griffith smiles to himself. Flashing lights zipping through the sky catches his attention as he looks through the sunroof. It passes right over them then lands on the open runway off the side of the road, “What was that?” He asked and then pointed to the others that looked just like it on the runway, “What are those?”

“A jet. This airport is small, so all the jets are small too. You’d be amazed at how big the other models are.” It was marvelous and it made him scratch his head. Something that big and metallic is able to get off the ground, “Just wait until you see a rocket launch.”

He looks back at him, “Wait, you mean to tell me that there’s something even faster and bigger than those?”

“Absolutely.” He answers, “After you’re done with your conquest, you should travel the world. You are no longer restricted to this land mass anymore.” He gave it a thought. What was he going to do after he acquired his fortune? Sit back on it and live peacefully forever? That’s about the only thing he could do, or maybe, travel the world like Zodd said. Should he bring him along? The vehicle comes to a stop, “We’re here. Hopefully they don’t mind the fact that you aren’t wearing any shoes.”

Griffith chuckles while he exits the truck, “Don’t bring it up, maybe they won’t notice.”

A simple clothing store, small and dainty. Griffith browsed through the long line of pants stacked up and neatly folded, “When you pick some out, you should try them on first.” The fitting room was smaller than a shower. He could barely lean over to pull up the pants he just put on.

Disappointment awaits him when he looks in the mirror, “Oh for fuck’s sake.”

“What’s wrong?” Zodd asked on the other side of the curtain.

They squeeze him uncomfortably just like the other pair did, “Again with the skinny jeans shit. Is there no such thing as normal pants anymore?” He heard Zodd laugh, “Not funny. Maybe we should go to another store.” 

Suddenly, more clothes to try on are tossed over and into the stall, “Try those on.” He peels off the jeans from his legs and pulls on the other pair. 

They fit and didn’t squeeze him, but the color was God awful, “I hate it.” He heard Zodd groan, storm off, then return with the same pair, but in black. Much better.

Zodd carries all of his bags worth of clothes, “You know, you could’ve carried all of this shit yourself.”

Griffith chuckles, “Still kind of weak from sleeping all of those years, remember?”

“What a lame excuse,” He carelessly tossed the bags into the trunk of the truck, “You could use the exercise.” His gaze fell upon his thin arms.

Griffith waves him off and looks around them. A busy city indeed. People and cars everywhere, he can’t remember the last time he’s been in a city this large or seen this many people, “Before we leave, can we walk around for a moment?”

He fishes through several bags of clothes and finally finds what he’s looking for, “Not without these, seriously, put these on.” Griffith slides on the pair of new shoes, “Or you’ll regret it when you step on glass.” The rear door to the trunk automatically lowers and shuts itself after Zodd pressed a button, “Want to see what modern life here has to offer?” His eyes fixed upon the tallest tower he could locate. Oh what he’d give to be able to get to the top, jump off, and fly. Zodd must’ve noticed him staring at it, “Wishing you knew how to fly?” They pick a random direction to walk in and stay side by side upon the sidewalk. Griffith says nothing and looks down at the gum-stained ground.

It’s quiet until they walk deeper into the downtown area. Nightclubs blast their music and people hang out on the streets, most of them were probably drunk. The nauseating smell of tobacco permeates the air. Griffith pinches his nose, “The hell is that smell?” It makes his sinuses burn with irritation as they walk past a group of people smoking.

“Cigarettes and cigars. You wouldn’t know anything about that.”

“What’s the point of it?”

“Some people just like the way it feels I guess, put your hand down, it’s insulting.”

Griffith rolls his eyes at the statement, “So this is what humans do during the night? What happened to just simply going to sleep?” He stops to study the long menu of alcohols and drinks posted on a sign outside a bar.

Zodd chuckles, “It’s friday night, Griffith.”

“And?”

“Come on.” He grabs his wrist and drags him into the darkness of an open door to a nightclub.

“Wait, Zodd,” He can’t pull his hand away no matter how hard he tried. The music gets louder and the bass makes his clothes vibrate. The smell of cigarettes is overwhelming here. His nose seems to be more sensitive to this stuff than everybody else’s. They don’t even seem to be bothered by it, “I can barely breathe!” He shouts over the music, though he’s sure Zodd can’t hear him. Or he’s ignoring him.

“Wait a second.” He turns his back to him to talk to the tattooed man behind the counter. Shelves upon shelves of alcohol adorned the area behind him, “Okay, drink this,” Zodd turns to him holding a small glass but then pauses in shock, “The hell are you doing? Stop doing that!”

“Wha- doing what?”

Zodd holds up that same device from earlier to show him his own reflection on the screen, “That! Your eyes are glowing, someone could see you.”

He tries his best to cover them with his hands, “It’s dark in here and I’m just trying to see-”

“Well stop trying to see.”

“It’s instinct!” His eyes glew bright red.

Zodd hands him one of the cups, “Keep your head down until you control yourself.” Griffith takes a sip, “No, down the entire thing.” The beverage is forced into his mouth and down his throat after Zodd tipped the glass. It burns all the way down. Griffith coughed from the large gulp and grimaced, “Nothing like what you’re used to. Alcohol back then has nothing on what we have now.”

Strangely, it made the glow in his eyes fade, “I want to leave!” He shouts over the music.

“Okay, okay, fine.” He leads him towards the exit.

“What was that for? A big waste of time,” He touches his stomach, “My stomach burns now thanks to you.”

Zodd smiles, “Oh you’ll get used to that.” The fresh air outside greets him, a break from that horrible tobacco shit, “We should discuss you and how are you going to find a source of food." Griffith tries to think of something, but nothing came, “You can’t keep feeding on me forever. Even I have my limits.”

Griffith smirks, “I could always just lure gullible humans into my trap and then end them.”

“You’d better be careful doing stuff like that, it’s a lot harder to get away with crime now than it was in your time.”

Griffith shrugs, “I can manage, I’ll just need to learn how to fly first. I say we start practicing tomorrow night.”

Zodd slides his hand over his face and sighs, “Griffith, look, we’ve been out here all night. The sun is going to come up soon and you still haven’t even gotten off the ground yet,” Another thud and a groan of pain, “We can try again tomorrow night, just give it a rest for now. You're still not even at your full strength yet, I can see your ribs and your spine." Another thud, "Just stop before you hurt yourself."

“No!” He shouts, “I can do this.” He spreads his long wings and desperately tries to flap them. All he does is stir up dust and leaves then falls right on his ass when he tries to jump up, “Look, there was some progress. I managed to stay up longer that time.” Zodd just angrily stares at him, “You can shapeshift and fly too, why don’t you come show me how you’re able to gain lift so easily?”

“I’m able to gain lift so easily because I’m a lot bigger and stronger than you.” Another sound of Griffith hitting the ground, “Why don’t you get a running start?”

“I’ve already tried that, it doesn’t work!” He attempts again, running at full speed yet still unable to get off the ground. Maybe if he had proper flight feathers this wouldn’t be so hard. Instead, he has fleshy wings formed from his own elongated fingers attached to the sides of his legs. They’re much akin to webbed hands. Griffith returns back to Zodd in disappointment.

Zodd hums in thought, “Have you tried jumping off of the roof or a tree maybe?” That’s a thought. He’d never think to do something like that, “Bats can climb can they not? You have claws at the ends of your wings so use them.” He points to the nearest tree. One with little branches towards the base. Griffith climbs it until he reaches the middle to place himself on a thick branch there, “Now jump off.” Zodd calls up to him.

Griffith nervously looked down, he was higher up off the ground than he thought. He kicks off the tree with his taloned feet and spreads his arms. He’s able to gain some lift and glide on the way down, but it seems like he didn’t have enough thrust to move forward through the air. The impact on the forest floor shakes him to his core. He heard the heavy footsteps of Zodd approaching him and standing over him, “Got anymore bright ideas?”

“Nope.” He chuckles, “Get up and come inside before you burn up, the sun’s coming up.” His entire body screams at him when he rolls himself over. He's lucky he hadn't injured a wing from this shit. It wasn’t until he sat up did he realize his left ankle is almost turned in the opposite direction. Only then did the pain kick in the moment he laid eyes on his mangled ankle. He suddenly erupts into tears and screams. Zodd tries his best to calm him down as he's carried into their cabin and sat upon a kitchen chair, "Okay, you're going to hate me for this. Sorry." Suddenly, he pops it back into its original position which only makes Griffith scream even louder. On reflex, he kicks with his other foot which finds itself in Zodd's gut. He doubles in pain, cursing loudly.  
Had they had neighbors, they'd think he's being murdered with the way he screams. He could barely usher out an apology over his pained sobs, "Don't worry about it. You'll heal up just fine. For now, stay off of that leg and try not to move it too much." Griffith was too busy wiping away his tears from his red cheeks to respond, "Want something to eat?"

"Y-yes." He sniffles. All he could do for him right now was let him drink from the back of his wrist and elevate that ankle on a pillow. 

He allows him to drink until he's had his fill, "Feel a little better now?"

Griffith quietly nods, rubbing his now puffy, red eyes. A dark purple bruise has now formed and swelling takes over, "I need to wash up, look at me, I'm covered in dirt."

"Bath?"

"Y-Yes." He stampers out. His tiny body is easily hoisted from the chair and into his arms. Zodd places him in the bathtub, "Can you make the water hot?"

"Sure." The drain stopper activates when pulled on and his pale skin is greeted with heat. It almost reminds him of when he was human when his core temperature heats up.

He'd fallen asleep after his hot bath when all that crying gave him a migraine. Griffith sits up to take in his surroundings. The bedroom? The windows were blocked out completely with blinds and thick curtains. Not a single slither of light from the afternoon sun can find its way in. He's able to move his ankle again as well as put weight on it. There's still some swelling and a little bit of pain, but it's bearable. He opens the door just in time to come face to face with Zodd, "Oh, you're up," He states, "I was coming to put some ice on your ankle, but it looks like it's not really needed."

Griffith retrieves the ice bag, "I'll still take it, I'm still kind of tender and swollen." He seats himself back on the bed and places the bag on his ankle. Zodd turned to leave and began to shut the door behind him, "Wait," Griffith calls out, "I just wanted to say thank you. For everything you've done.”

Zodd responds only with a nod of his head and jokes, “Don’t mention it. Not very often do I find half-dead vampires around here.” The door clicks shut behind him.

That night while Zodd is sleeping, he steps outside into the warmth of the night. Silvery glow from the full moon in a cloudless sky above. His body stretches and lengthens to welcome his vampiric form before he climbs that same tree again. The bark is torn up from the sharp claws on the edges of his wings and long hook-like claws upon his feet. His legs kick off as hard as he could muster as he brings his large wings down. The wind catches beneath them and he’s able to keep himself afloat at last. His arms work with all their might to carry his weight above the trees. The tips of the pine trees scrape him along the way, but he manages to bring himself higher. His excitement could barely be contained. He’s flying. Finally, after all these days of longing, wishing he could. He’s done it. Griffith’s arms already felt sore after doing a few circles around the clearing at the cabin. He needs to stop. A short-lived victory but a victory nonetheless. The hard part is landing, his body slides across the ground when he tries to land on his feet. Must’ve been going too fast.

He hears clapping above him, “Well done,” Zodd states, “You need to work on landing though.”

Griffith smiles, “You saw all that? How was I? My arms got too tired and I had to come back down.”

He helps him back onto his feet, “You were fine, you just need to ease into your turns more slowly so you don’t barrel roll. Try using your tail for balance next time.” He has a tail? Shit, he hadn’t realised that. Griffith looked over his shoulder and sure enough there was a short tail there. Pale as the rest of his body, “Also, you’re supposed to lean back before you land to bring the wind under your wings to slow down. Just like a bird. You were going too fast which is why you fell forward.”

Griffith brushes the dust and dirt off of him, “You wouldn’t happen to know any other vampires, do you?” Damn, on second thought, he should’ve waited until he was taught how to properly fly from his captor and then killed him. It’s hard trying to learn to fly from something that isn’t even near his own kind.

“No.” He bluntly answers. Griffith groans, “If I were you, I’d start by watching the birds around here.” Griffith hums in thought, “Do you want me to demonstrate and fly with you?”

Flying with Zodd was nerve-wracking. He was moving so fast and they were so high off the ground. The wind was flying through his nostrils so fast that it was hard to breathe. Griffith could only grab fistfuls of fur in hopes of not falling to his death and he only kept gaining altitude, “Can you please slow down?”

“Slow down? Fine.” The massive creature slows, “Did you see what I just did to slow down?”

Griffith waves it off, “That’s different, you hardly even leaned back and your wings are on your back, my wings are my arms.”

“Fair enough. Alright, this is as high as I’m going, now jump.”

Griffith could barely find it within himself to approach the edge of his furry hand, “Wait, I-”

“Do it or I’ll drop you.”

“O-okay.” He morphs into his other form and then spreads his wings. The wind catches them and snatches him out of Zodd’s hand. His body pushes with all of its might to keep up along his side. The view up here is incredible. He can see the skyline of the city as well as its glow.

“If you’re getting tired, get behind me.” He follows his advice and changes positions. His large body blocks most of the incoming wind going against them while his wings give him an upwards draft. Griffith is able to glide now without having to flap his wings so often. He can now admire the view from up here and enjoy the cold wind. Four-laned highways loop and curve through the forest, all leading to and away from the city like veins to and from a heart. Moving white headlights on one side of the road and red taillights on the other.

“Can we go see if that castle is still up?” He calls out over the wind, “I think I can remember my way back.”

“Alright, though I doubt it still stands after all these years. I already told you there's nothing around here.” Responded Zodd. Griffith rapidly flaps his wings to speed up and land back into the palm of his massive hand to point in the direction he wanted to go. 

They fly for seemingly miles, no sign of life or light anywhere from below. The city in the distance only got smaller and smaller, “Looks like you were right. It is gone.” Griffith states, “We can go back home now.”

“That man you killed, did he have any family?”

“Yes, but clearly it looks like none of them wanted his estate.” He ponders what happened immediately after he killed him. What did the servants do? Could he have been buried somewhere in a cemetery with a headstone, or was he forgotten in the wilderness somewhere? What about that impressive manor of his? Could it have fallen into ruin? Oh well. He was gone. No remorse. Griffith got all he wanted from him anyways. He pushes him out of his head to focus on practicing.

His own stomach signaling the return of hunger awakens him slightly earlier than usual one night. He slithers quietly into the bedroom and looms over a half-sleeping Zodd, “What do you want?” He asks without even opening his eyes.

"Can we fly into the city?"

Zodd opens his eyes to look at him as if he were insane, "What? No.”

"But-"

He interrupts, "Griffith, somebody will see us, we might be powerful but we aren’t invisible."

"But Zodd, if we stay high in the dark sky, they can't see us. We can land somewhere just outside the city and then walk the rest of the way in," Zodd shakes his head, "Please?"

"Look, if you want to go into the city, I can just drive you there.”

He sighs in disappointment, “That’s half the fun, besides, I could always use the practice.”

“Why do you even want to go all of a sudden?” Questioned Zodd.

“I’m getting hungry again, and I know I can’t take too much off of you.”

He grabs his wrists and begins to pull him out of the bed, “What do you plan on doing out there?”

“I wanna go back to that bar you took me.”

The smell of cigars and cigarettes floods his senses with a stinging familiarity deep in his sinuses. Thick haze of the smoke machines going off above the dancefloor fills the room. Up above, people stood around to drink and talk on the balcony while looking down at the busiest section of the building below. Griffith peers through the flashing lights and bubbly crowd. He elbows Zodd’s side to get his attention, “It’s not as busy as the last time we came.”

“Last time we came here it was Friday, now it’s Wednesday.” He replies. Out of all these busy and sweaty people, none of them were particularly interesting, “See anybody you want?” Zodd asks, leaning closer to his ear. Griffith shakes his head, “What about her?” He gestures to a shy blonde peeking his way then looking away to giggle with her friends.

“She’s looking at you, Zodd.”

He chuckles, “No, she’s looking at you, they all are.”

“Hm,” He begins. She wasn't tempting to him in the slightest. Not that it mattered anyways, blood tasted the same to him no matter who it came from, “I think I would like a man this time.”

Zodd looks around. All the men around here were busy with women, “Good luck with that one.”

Griffith raises his brow coyly and steps away from the bar table they leaned on, “You seem to have forgotten my charms and my good looks.”

He managed to find some drunk ass goons to fawn over him. What appeared to be two best friends, one brunette and the other blonde. They told him their names but Griffith didn’t recall asking or even remembering them. All he knows is that he’s got his eyes set on his meal. He plays hard to get to make them follow and sniff on him like ravenous dogs. Male humans. So easily manipulated and tempted by the mere mention of some ass. Zodd warned him about cameras and how many witnesses there are here. This city just won’t do. He talks them into coming home with him, makes them hop in a self-driving cab with him. They couldn’t keep their hands off.

They touch him, pull at some of his clothes, take turns kissing him. He pretends to be into all of it, “Where are we- what is this place?” One of them mumbled while Griffith drags him out of the hovering vehicle.

“Shh, we just have to walk up this hill then we’ll be at my house.” He playfully winks. Oh how wrong and foolish they are. He didn't live here. Nobody lived here. It was just a random location off the side of one of the many roads around here. This tall hill should protect him from view from the street below.

His body hardly had time to react before the brunette pulled out a gun on him, “Scream and I’ll shoot you.” Griffith glanced at the blonde clinging to his side. He suddenly feels the press of cold metal against his rib.

“So it was all a scheme, huh? An act.” He states, "Nicely done and I thought you two were genuinely drunk."

The blonde rips off his shirt while the other grabs him by the throat, “Shut the fuck up, we’ll make a good boy out of you after we’re done with you.” He pretends to be afraid. He pretends to be overwhelmed by their strength. He allows himself to be handled roughly against the forest floor.

His body tears easily when someone forces their way inside of him. The smell of his own blood fills his nose. With his hearing, he can detect the heavy flutter of Zodd’s massive wings high above them in the darkness. Before he could do something brash, Griffith whispers, “I’ll be okay.” He knows he can hear him from down here.

Let them have their way and have their fun. He doesn’t usually enjoy sex as much as he should, but he does when it’s been so long since he’d been touched this way. They think that they're hurting him for their own pleasure, but they're actually serving him. Griffith vocalizes his pleasure into the night, “Look at him, he likes it up the ass.”

“Hurry up, it’s my turn.” 

"Just put it in anyways." He’s rolled over to straddle someone’s lap while the other man forces his way inside alongside the hard cock already in his depths. His body immediately heals from the trauma, leaving behind blood to slick him up. When he finishes, he screams as loud as he could muster while his body distorts. His arms and fingers lengthen, forming webbed skin between them. Teeth elongating into fangs and his pleasured cry turning into a vicious screech.

A “What the fuck?!” From beneath him and “Shoot it!” prompts him to slap the man behind him away with his wing before sinking his fangs deep into the throat of the other man below him. Blood immediately jets out around his lips and floods his mouth. He bites until his jaw aches and then man's gut-wrenching screams fall silent.

He sits up to bore his red eyes into the terrified eyes of the human next to them, “You thought I fell into your trap,” Griffith smirks and stands to his feet, “But you’ve fallen into mine too little did you know.” He was in control of this situation. He always was and always will be. The gun going off and striking him several times in his torso stuns him. The noise louder than anything he’s ever heard and the pain was unimaginable. Overwhelming. The half-naked man stumbles to his feet to run deeper into the woods, even further up the slope.

Zodd lands in front of him, “What the hell was that?”

Griffith waves him off and sprints after him. He didn’t get far. He couldn’t get far. Not against a vampire like him. Griffith gets him down to the ground with ease and he puts his hands up in defeat, “I- I don’t know what you are, b- but I won’t say anything to anybody, I promise!”

He only tuts and presses the long claws of his foot against his throat. The man below tries to push him off, tries to punch at his ankle and calves. But he isn’t strong enough. Griffith angles his foot to a sharp point then easily pierces through the man’s throat. He screams and thrashes in pain, sobs being drowned out by the blood filling his mouth and esophagus. He assumes the blonde started to choke and drown on it then went into shock. His body stops its pained, pathetic struggling.

His hand passes over the holes in his chest and, thankfully, his blood is red as it should be when he brings his hand up to view. This won’t be a repeat of that silver poisoning incident after all. Now that he’s calming down, he can feel the extent of his injuries. One ripped a hole in his stomach, the other one went into his thigh, another one lodged its way inside of his lung. His slow heart still continues to pump blood through itself despite being badly grazed. His wounds and ruptured organs rapidly seal and stop the bleeding, forcing the bullets back to the surface of his skin until they pop out and fall into his awaiting hands. He holds up the round, metallic copper colored projectiles in the palm of his hand.

Zodd stands behind him and drops the carcass of the other man next to him, “Those were the sloppiest kills I’ve seen in awhile.” He scolds, "Also, you should take those. Don't leave them here." He was referring to the bullets in his hand.

Griffith clutches them within his fist, “Like you can do it better?” He kneels above the body and eagerly laps at his still oozing wound on the throat.

“I can do it infinitely times much better than you,” He sighs, watching slurp and suck up all the blood pooling there while ignoring what he just said, “Now you’ve got more than you know what to do with. I suppose we can just freeze it.” Griffith says nothing in response, only swallowing mouthfuls of blood, “I’ll go get the gallons.”

Zodd returns, holding both of their remains up by their ankles to let the blood drain through a funnel and into an empty milk gallon below. This will be the last one they’ll fill for now, having four of them already full. Griffith was absolutely stuffed. He could only sit and watch the final gallon slowly fill to its capacity. Zodd turns that large, horned animal head of his to look at him, “Why did you-” He stops himself midway.

“Why did I what?”

“Why did you let them do that to you?” He asks, “You could’ve taken them both out the moment that cab drove away and yet you-”

Griffith interrupts him with his laugh, “Oh, I’m well aware I could’ve ended them earlier. I just chose not to. I didn't want to just let them have all the fun. This was one of the rare times I can enjoy myself having sex. They try to act all tough and mighty as if I was supposed to be afraid of them.” The gallon has reached its capacity and Zodd tosses them aside while Griffith screws on its cap.

“They were probably trying to throw you into the long, growing list of sex trafficking.”

It’s the first time he’s heard that term, “What’s that?”

“Modern slavery.” He answers. Griffith’s heart nearly sinks in his chest. Slavery. That word rings in his head like a gunshot ringing in his ears. To think they would’ve made him meet such a fate again had he not killed that. What if they’ve already done it to several other people before him? They could’ve easily gotten him if he were still a human. He can’t even put into words how grateful he is of having this power. He changes the subject, “Well. That felt a little nice, been a little while since I’ve done that.”

“A little while?” Zodd repeats.

“Okay, five hundred years.” He admits and Zodd laughs, “Be quiet. How long has it been for you? Not like you’ve brought home any women lately,” Mocked Griffith, “Or men.”

“None of your business.”

Griffith snorts while rounding up the gallons and placing them onto the center of Zodd’s hand, “That while, huh? My years of chastity have got nothing on your millennium. I bet the mammoths were still alive and humans were drawing on cave walls during your prime.”

“Shut up, you.”

They both laugh, “Oh, I almost forgot, what about your truck? You aren’t going to leave it parked outside of the club, are you?” He climbs onto his hand and seats himself at the center.

“Don’t worry about it, I can summon it when we get back home, it knows its way back.” Griffith thought about how incredible that sounds. An inanimate object being able to move itself and go anywhere when told to remotely, as if it were sentient. They take off into the night headed back home.

The water runs red below him. His fingertips touch the site of his multiple gunshot wounds. Not a single imperfection left behind after his regeneration. He brings his hand lower, beneath his bellybutton to pass over the ugly scar tissue there in the shape of a sideways slash. A reminder. He holds himself underneath the cold water until the water runs clear as he lathers himself with soap.

His body doesn’t even react to the cold air of the air conditioned hallway when he steps out of the bathroom. Not even a shiver up his spine or goosebumps all over his skin despite being completely bare. He loves it, “What, did you forget to grab a towel?” Zodd jokes from the other end of the hallway.

“N- no! I was just basking in the cold.” He sighs and fans himself, “If I were still human, I’d probably catch a cold from this.”

He feels a towel being draped over his shoulders, “That’s great, but you should still use a towel.”

“For someone who is as old as me, you sure are really shy when it comes to nudity.”

“No I’m not. I only did that because you’re trailing water everywhere.” He pointed to the floor, huge puddles of water followed him from the shower to the doorway. Oops. Griffith fakes an innocent smile and bats his eyes, “Anyways, how are your wounds? I know he shot you a few times.” 

Griffith pats himself dry and then wraps the towel around his soaking wet hair, leaving himself completely nude again, “They’re fine, see for yourself.” He points to his chest, “He got me in the heart and I’m still alive.” He had even kept those bullets that fell out of him.

“Be careful. Not all bullets are made from the same metals, they could easily have traces of silver in them.” Zodd warns, “If you get hit there with a silver bullet, no amount of leeches will save you.”

“I see.” Was all he could say. He supposes he’s never thought about that, but then again, that was the first time he’s seen a firearm and it certainly won’t be the last, “Can I sleep with you again?”

Zodd pretends to not hear him and walks away, Griffith hastily follows behind him, “Please? I promise I won’t put my freezing cold feet on you this time!”

Yellow tape wrapped around the bases of trees. Radios and scanners go off while he steps through the crowd of other police officers. The peak of the hill was flooded with them as was the entire area. He stands over the two dead bodies of men. They were already picked apart by scavenging birds. Severe lacerations on their throats and missing their eyes. Majority of their blood drained from their bodies. Evidence markers litter the ground. Abnormally large hoof-prints of a cow’s here and there that seemingly came from nowhere and then disappeared as if it flew away. Then strange three toed footprints of something otherworldly. Whatever it was has the longest claws he’s ever seen.

A bright-eyed new recruit greets, “Ah, detective, you’re here. We’re stumped on this one. We don’t know what could’ve been responsible for this. There’s multiple animal-like prints everywhere. It seems like it started off as three of them, they came up this hill, there's signs of a struggle, someone fires and drops their gun, then another one shows up from nowhere and then the tracks just abruptly end," He informs, “It’s like they just disappeared, or rather, flew away.”

He sighs and removes the dark sunglasses from his face, “We’ve been over this before, no need to be formal. Just call me Guts.”


	3. Chapter 3

He looks over the documents of evidence, pictures of mutilated remains. Both died from blood loss according to the autopsy. Major wounds to their necks and missing the majority of their blood. Guts doesn’t know what to make of all this shit. Hoof prints? Three-toed talon-like prints? Both of which ended abruptly, as if they’ve flown away or disappeared. His desk was a mess, paper and envelopes thrown everywhere. The grieving families were of no help. They didn’t even know these two were out that late or what they were planning to do. Searching their homes was of no help either. For sure they had taken a taxi or some sort of vehicle to that slope off the side of the highway, but so far, they are unable to identify it. Guts could only pinch the bridge of his nose and sigh. It’s been two weeks since their bodies were found, yet he’s gotten nowhere with finding their killer. The media demands answers and they’ve neglected to disclose the animalistic prints in the dirt to the public.

“Detective, do you have a moment?” The recruit he met earlier steps inside his office holding a packet of papers.

“Of course.”

“We’ve found blood not belonging to the victims.” A breakthrough? Guts sits up in his chair in interest, “The only problem is that, since we have no suspects in custody, there is no way to tell who it belongs to.”

Guts rolls his eyes and sinks down in his chair, “Of course.”

“We’ve managed to find cctv footage of a nightclub, both men were seen practically dragging a white-haired individual out who was also seen talking to another unidentifiable man. We can’t really tell if it’s a man or a woman though, it’s really fuzzy and we don't know who that other man was. We assume it’s a woman based on the length of the hair.” He holds up a usb and places it on the only clean corner of his desk, “The bartenders weren’t really of any help, they see so many people in one night every single night, so we have nothing about their faces."

Guts plugs the drive into his computer and clicks on the video file. The individual in question was speaking to a large man, walked away to a blindspot of the camera to presebemly dance, then appear again hours later, drunk. Being pulled towards the exit by the victims, “Despite appearing to be drunk in the footage, there was low alcohol in their systems, nowhere near the amount it takes to get them that drunk. Strange. They were also hiding roofies on their person.” He comments. They walk outside then down the street, leaving the field of view of the camera.

“We’ve also tried to find more footage from the neighboring buildings, but their external cameras didn’t point towards the street, so there’s no telling what vehicle they could’ve gotten into. We don’t even know if they used a private vehicle for hire or a taxi or even if there was a driver or not. Nobody has stepped forward saying they’ve driven those three anywhere yet.” Another dead end. Just when he thought they were getting close. No fingerprints, no witnesses, no leverage, “Hey, at least we have still of the white-haired woman, it’s been released to the public so maybe someone will speak up.”

Guts rubs his aching lower back. How long has he been sitting in this chair anyways? “Thank you for showing me this.” The other man takes his leave and Guts leans back in his chair which squeaks under his weight. He begins to think that maybe he’s in over his head with this case. Never has he ever dealt with something this bizarre.

“You know you’re on the news, right?” Zodd chimes in and stands in the way of the television screen that Griffith was infatuated by for the past weeks.

“I beg your pardon?” Questioned Griffith.

He holds up that bright device of his to his face and points to a fuzzy image of the back of his head in that nightclub, “That’s you. They’re onto you.”

Griffith squinted at the brightness and scoffed, “Who are they?”

“The police that’s who. They know about you killing those guys. I knew going there was a bad idea.”

He pushes away the device from his face, “Look, I was hungry. That was the only place that seemed like it had enough gullible humans to fall for my spell. I don’t even see why you’re shifting the blame on me, you were there too right next to me based on that photo below that one.”

Zodd stutters, “T-that’s different, nothing on me stands out, unlike you."

“Yes, but you’re connected to me nonetheless.”

“They found your blood at the scene. I thought I told you to take those bullets with you.”

“I did,” He stands to his feet to dig out the bullets that were once embedded inside of his body that he placed in a cup holder on the nearby desk, “I have them all right here. Blood splatters, therefore, it was not on purpose that I left something at the scene.”

He waves him off, “Whatever, you’re lucky they couldn’t identify you in the footage, but if they catch you and test your dna with that blood they already have, you are going to jail.”

Griffith seats himself back on the couch and picks out a bullet from the cup holder then twirls the narrow cylinder-like object between his fingers, “They’ll never catch me, I can make myself disappear never to be seen again. I've already done it once."

“You ran away from one man and his angry mob of followers. Now you're on the run from the police of this city who have more eyes and ears. Like I said before, it isn’t as easy to get away with crime now as it was back then.” Repeated Zodd. He only shrugs at him and stares at the metallic object between his fingers. From arrows, swords, and spears to this? It’s so small, yet it tore through his body and turned his organs into mush like nothing. Armor for sure can stop these projectiles, right? “You should dye your hair a different color or cut it.”

His face deepens to a frown, “Absolutely not, I like it this length and this color.”

Zodd holds his hands up, “Just a suggestion for the next time you plan on going out, you should change it a different color because that white is eye-catching and a very defining part of you. People will be looking for anyone with white long hair.”

Cutting his hair even shorter. How ridiculous. An outlandish suggestion, "I’ll just stick with staying here and lay low for a while, thanks.”

“A while?” Repeats Zodd, “This isn’t something people are going to forget, Griffith. It’s on the internet.” Whatever that was, “You have to watch what you’re doing next time. I mean it.”

“Okay, okay, fine.” He states, “We can do things your way from now on, because I’m too ‘sloppy’ apparently.” He allows the metal bullet to roll out of hand and hit the wooden floor below, “Let’s stop talking about this for now and go to bed.” Yawned Griffith, ushering the other towards the bedroom.

“No coffin this time?”

Griffith answers, “I hate sleeping in there, it’s hard to breathe and it hurts my back.”

“You don’t need to breathe.” Chuckled Zodd and Griffith all but threw himself into the bed with Zodd joining him on the other side.

"Hmph,” He begins, “I knew that.” The bright glow of the afternoon sun beams through a fault in the blinds. Griffith reaches his hand up to dip his fingertips in the ray above. The skin there reddened instantly and painful blisters form. He quickly snatches his hand away, watching the fault on his skin heal.

“Why’d you do that?” Questioned Zodd.

He touches the tips of his now healed fingers, “I don’t know, I guess I just wanted to see how fast I’d burn.” It was the first time he’d ever exposed himself to direct sun rays. Griffith rolls over to face the other and ponders over him. What was he like before they met? Could he have had a significant other in his life? “What's your type?"

“My what?”

"Your type,” He repeats, “What do you look for in a person that makes them attractive to you?” Zodd declines to answer or even look at him, “Oh come on, for sure you have feelings too, did you ever share this cabin with someone?” Still no response, “You mean to tell me you’ve owned this place all by yourself all these centuries?”

“Yes.” He bluntly answers.

Griffith pressed, “Don’t you ever get lonely in here? I was placed in a glorified prison cell when I was captured by that vampire, I almost wanted to rip my hair out from how bored, lonely, and quiet it was. I had nobody to talk to.”

“Yes, well, that’s you.”

He smiles and presses his cold feet on his leg, “Then I must be your first, maybe even the first one in this bed.” Zodd swats his feet away, “My God, Zodd.”

“What?”

“You’re a virgin, aren’t you?” He laughs, “Not that there’s anything wrong with that.”

“Oh, piss off,” He starts, “I am most certainly not. I’ve been alive longer than you have and you’d best believe I’ve fucked more than you ever have.”

He scoffs at the bluff, “That’s something a virgin would say.”

“Drop it.” He gets out of the bed, “I’m not even sleepy, I don’t even know why I let you drag me in here.”

Griffith pulls him back into bed by his arms, “Have you ever even kissed anybody?”

He tries to pull his hands away, “Would you please-”

“I mean it, genuine question.”

Zodd sighs, “I have, but I don’t really like it.”

“That’s something somebody who doesn’t know how to kiss would say.”

“I don’t know how to kiss?” He repeats, “Like you're such a pro."

He shrugs, “I never said that, but you can prove me wrong. Show me what you got.” Griffith points to his own lips. He hesitates for a moment. Are they really going to do this? Yes. Who’s here to judge anyways? Zodd’s massive hands cradle his cheeks as he leans in. Their lips lock then he feels Griffith try to pry his mouth open with his tongue. The kiss breaks, “Not bad, but more tongue.” Oh he wants more tongue? Alright. He presses his lips harder against his and then forces his tongue into his mouth. The surprised squeak at the back of Griffith’s throat is muffled against his lips. His back hitting the mattress makes the bed frame creak from his weight. Just as quickly as the kiss began, it suddenly ended. He didn’t know what to think or how to react. His body lied there, limp and still.

“Still think I don’t know anything about kissing?” Mocked Zodd, “Look at you, swallowing your own pride dumbfounded.”

Griffith wipes his lips with the back of his hand, “You’ve won that time.” He smirks at him then wraps his lithe legs around his waist when he tries to stand up, “But I still get some credit since I made you hard.” Zodd looks down at himself in concern, “Ha, made you look.”

His frown deepens at the coy joke, “Look who’s talking.” 

Griffith makes no move to cover the obvious bulge in his pants. He only spreads his legs wider to accentuate his point, “Are you going to do something about it?”

He tuts, “Are you going to make me?”

“Touche.” He sits up onto his knees to grab at his waistband, “Let me see it. Is it as big as the rest of you?” The fuck has gotten into him all of a sudden? Zodd thought. This is so random and it came out of nowhere. He doesn’t even know how it progressed this far, but he doesn't object to the cold fingers closing around his cock. It’s been awhile since he’d been touched that way and it shows. His length hardens instantly from the slow strokes. His cold palm was a strange feeling but not unwanted. Griffith frowns to himself when he receives no visible reaction, "Are you made of stone?" Zodd tuts at him as he picks up the pace of his fist, "Want me to put it in my mouth?" Griffith readjusted himself on the bed to kneel in front of him then wrap his lips around the tip. He hears Zodd's breath hitch and then he swiftly tries to correct himself. Ha, A rise. His head and fist pumps him faster. It's a snug and tight fit in his mouth, makes him really push himself to suppress his gag reflex.   
It seems the inside of his mouth is cold too and Zodd quickly gets used to it. 

He pulls off to smirk and hits him with that deceivingly soft gaze. This man is probably capable of killing an army, yet here he is, kneeling in front of him and staring with those lustful eyes. Behind those eyes is nothing but pure wickedness, “What?” Zodd begins to ask, “Are you implying we fuck or something?”

“No, what gave it away?” Griffith sarcastically spat as he strips. He notices the hesitation in Zodd’s hands while he contemplates everything, “Just think of this as being mutually beneficial, I’m trying to repay you for everything you've done in the only way I know how while you get to have at me.” He explained, "It's been awhile for you."

“I'm not saying no, but I don’t want you to feel like you owe-” He’s silenced with a glacial finger to his lips, “Fine, have it your way then. You’d better be clean back there.”

“I’m always clean.” Scoffed the other while he glares down at his dick, “Hmph, you are quite large. Do you have any oil?”

“I have something close to it that was invented for this very reason.” Griffith curiously watches him lean over to retrieve something from the nightstand. Thick, clear liquid. "Lubricant" was all he was able to read on its label before its contaminants were squeezed onto wide fingers and he nervously shifted in his spot on the bed, "Don't tell me you're getting cold feet after all that talk."

He spreads his legs and looks at the ceiling in embarrassment, "Be quiet and get to it." His body seized up when a blunt finger penetrated him. Griffith masks the curse word that almost flew past his lips with the back of his hand. The intrusion penetrates him deeper and meticulously presses precisely on something that made him want to cum instantly, "Dammit," He sighed, "What was that?"

Zodd coyly smirks at him, "You wouldn't know anything about that huh?"

"Whatever it is, keep hitting it. And don't stop." It has him spreading his legs wider and raising his hips to take it deeper. He wants to touch himself. He should touch himself. No, don't. It'll make him finish sooner than he would want to. Griffith wants to milk every second of this feeling. His orgasm hits him harder than expected, gasping for air and immediately choking on it with his drawn-out, pleasured moan.

All of that with just one finger, and the true fun hasn't even begun. If Zodd could get him off this easily with just one finger, he sure as hell can't wait to see how he'll use that third arm of his between his legs, "Don't tell me you're tapping out now." Mocked the other man, "Here I am thinking vampires had heightened endurance."

Griffith playfully nudged his side with his foot and reached down to grab his large cock within his fist, "I'm ready now, put it in."

His tiny body is shielded by the other's large frame who leans over him, "I'm not going easy on you, understand?"

"Is that a challenge?" Scoffed Griffith in response, applying more pressure on his dick with his fist, making Zodd groan, "Give me everything you've got. If I'm not walking funny, I'll be very disappointed in you."

He couldn't keep track of how many times he came for shit. One moment he was on his back, then on his side, against the wall? He can't remember how many positions Zodd twisted his body into. Not even an hour has passed since he'd entered him and yet Griffith feels like it's been an hour. Every single muscle in his body screams at him from the excursion, meanwhile, this mother fucker hasn't even cum once. And he teases him about it too, "Want me to stop?" And "Too much? Can't handle it? Tap out or I'll keep going, I can do this all night." Griffith only encircled his legs tighter around his waist to encourage him to continue.

His hair stuck to his sweaty face and neck as he cries out from another dry orgasm. Good thing they don't have any neighbors because they'd probably report them from Griffith's loud screams. He falls limp within his arms, "Okay, okay, you win," He surrenders, "Finish already so I can put together what little dignity I have left." His lips can barely form coherent words over his ragged breathing.

"All that tough talk. I knew you were all bark against someone who could keep up with you."

After what he assumes to be a few minutes of shallow thrusts inside of his tender depths, Zodd roughly pulls out to finish all over his ass and back. Finally. He hates to admit it, but he had eaten his words and god dammit it's bitter. Swallow your pride, Griffith he thinks. That won't be the only thing he'd be swallowing around here. Zodd lets him rest in the middle of the bed, his ass felt so raw and stretched out. Honestly, he wouldn't be surprised if he were gaping as wide as his mouth could open back there. His ass clenches at the disturbing thought. 

Zodd must've left for a shower. He should really shower too, he's never felt this sweaty and sticky and the sheets were filthy from his cum and sweat too. Griffith sits up and almost instantly his body reacts to the stinging pain at his ass when his full weight rests upon it, "Dammit."

"Get up so I can wash these." Zodd's already pulling the sheets off the mattress. 

Griffith stands to his wobbly legs, catching himself on the wall behind him and watches as the mattress was stripped of the sheets, "I assume you want some help with that?"

"Help?" Tuts Zodd, "Oh no, laundry doesn't take all day anymore. We have machines for that." Griffith raises his brows. Of course. Machines, machines, machines. They do everything for everyone now. This will be quite something to adjust to.

Griffith waves it off, "I need a shower." The pitter patter of the cold water along his back does little to soothe the ache in his ass. It doesn't matter anyways, his body has already begun its healing process.

"Step over, I'm coming in." Griffith is practically pressed against the glass wall of the shower before he could respond.

He couldn't help but stare at the other man from behind and slaps his rear, "For all the times you've spanked me until I was red," He states, "And for almost making me slip and fall just now."

"Oh, stop acting like you didn't like that." His playful smile widens while he wraps his arms around his waist, "Do you mind? I'm trying to wash up here."

His hands travel lower, "What if I touch you here?" He purrs, fingers trailing through the hair there and then lower to his soft member. It won't be soft for long. 

Zodd's actions stop, "You're playing a dangerous game, bat. You haven't learned your lesson the first time around, huh?"

Griffith smirks, "I guess not, enlighten me."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> God, I'm sorry about taking ages to update this, I've been sitting on the newest chapter for forever yet I got so busy with school and work. :/

**Author's Note:**

> Not enough vampire Griff fics out there, y'all need to step y'all game up.


End file.
